here's a cute lil pussykin squirting pwp inspired by @alilyhn's juicy delicious art :DDD
tags: pussykin, squirting, bit of spit kink
~
Anakin's master is known for being fastidious. Hair neat, robes perfectly aligned, boots polished to a shine. His movements are controlled and graceful, his words articulated expertly. He makes Anakin feel like a messy teenager in the worst ways, and not just because he is a messy teenager. It’s the control and Anakin’s glaring lack of it; that’s the real sticking point.
But when it's just them, alone in their quarters, Obi-Wan isn’t as orderly. Leaves his robes tossed over a chair, forgets to rinse his mug out sometimes. And after a long period apart where he's had time to worry about all the mischief Anakin has gotten up to in his absence, when they haven’t touched in days - that’s the most careless he ever gets.
Or maybe he's just so impatient to get Anakin's taste back in his mouth that he doesn't care.
Either way it works in Anakin's favour, because here he is not ten minutes after Obi-Wan’s debrief with the Council - naked and shuddering while Obi-Wan kneels fully clothed between his bitten thighs and suckles at his clit, cheeks and beard shiny from Anakin’s slick. He's lost count of how many times he's twitched so violently he's almost kneed Obi-Wan, but his master doesn't seem to care. He just groans and sucks harder with Anakin’s leg tossed over his shoulder, eyelids fluttering as Anakin blooms under his tongue.
Anakin bites his fist and widens the splay of his legs, toes curling as his Master snarls softly and digs greedy fingers into his ass, pulling him closer. He'll never say it but he missed Obi-Wan just as much as he'd evidently missed him, especially after the long days of boring lessons and lonely sparring sessions. His Master’s solo missions are only ever bearable because he knows they'll end eventually, and then he'll have Obi-Wan's solid presence to cling to once more.
This time was especially hard though, something about the timing or the nature of the mission, or - or maybe it was Anakin's relentless memories of the last few times they've had sex, how Obi-Wan has been so hungry lately, eating him out like he's starving and Anakin's an endless feast. He's not, because he gets so sore that eventually he literally has to kick his face away, but then Obi-Wan just replaces his tongue with his cock and fucks him until he's boneless and drooling. Even then he doesn't seem satisfied.
It's like he's waiting for something. Disappointed when he doesn't get it but even more determined to have it happen. Anakin's more than happy to let him try, whatever it is.
Regardless, the thought of Obi-Wan needing something from Anakin's body so desperately that he’s insatiable at all hours has been enough to keep Anakin on edge the entire cycle he was away, so twitchy with the constant need to come that he'd taken to eating in their rooms just so he could then fall onto the couch and fuck himself on his own fingers, knees spread so wide his hip sockets spasmed and darkening the cushions beneath himself. If he presses his nose into the fabric he can still smell himself, and it sends a thrill through him, that Obi-Wan might sit here and smell the faint salt of him and know.
Perhaps he does, because he’d wasted no time setting his mouth to Anakin’s already-wet cunt and getting him even more sloppy as soon as his pants were off, taking panting breaths of his smell and groaning. “Missed this,” he’d grated out as he’d gathered spit and let it pool on Anakin’s clit, closing his eyes as it’d twitched. “Missed your mess.” And then he’d reduced him quickly to a sweating, shivery puddle, Anakin unable to keep his moans from becoming wounded whimpers.
His Master gorges himself and keeps Anakin cumming on his tongue, again and again until he's soaked and shaking, on the edge of total ruin. His hole burns and trickles more wetness onto Obi-Wan's pants and the floor, empty and feverish for fingers or a tongue or a cock. His leg muscles ache from how many times they’ve seized, his braid sticks to his skin and he’s reached the point where it doesn't matter what goes in him, he just needs something. But the lack is almost better, the scratch of Obi-Wan's beard along his fat folds as he licks his entire clit with his hot tongue like a dog and then tickles the underside lightly making him sob.
“M-master,” he chokes out, head tipping back and arm wavering where it props him up on the edge of the couch, hips jolting as Obi-Wan's tongue starts to draw tiny circles on the overly sensitive tip and he presses a heavy hand against his damp belly. He's close again, must be at least the fifth time - and when he looks down at Obi-Wan he can see the red throb of himself opened wide, Obi-Wan’s reverent face as he slathers himself unabashedly in Anakin’s scent.
Anakin cries thinly and comes, walls clenching weakly around nothing as Obi-Wan groans and dips down to lap at his sloppy hole. “Please!” He gurgles, chasing the satisfaction of Obi-Wan's tongue fucking into him, the whispering stroke of his fingers against his tight asshole. It makes him keen, that filthy touch, ignites something primal in him. They've never tried it but he wants it, just like he wants everything with Obi-Wan, his spit in his mouth and his cum in his hole, his piss - “just fuck me already!”
“Not yet,” Obi-Wan challenges, voice shot through with such intense anticipation that Anakin's heartbeats catch on something like caution. He struggles to keep himself upright, flailing a little as Obi-Wan bends his leg and places his foot on the edge of the couch, exposing him completely. He stares ravenously at Anakin's engorged clit, his puffy lips and drenched pubic hair, then presses his thumbs to his inner lips, works his mouth and spits directly onto his hole.
Anakin wails without sound, thumping against the back of the couch as he pulls his legs to his chest and lets Obi-Wan do whatever the fuck he wants, out of his mind from the image of his prim and proper Master spitting on him. It’s so lewd, and Anakin can’t get enough. Obi-wan has finally curled two fingers into him, thrusting them deep and dragging them along the anterior as he works his mouth again and lets a foamy spit bubble drip onto his clit. The slow slide of it has Anakin’s back arching, mouth opening on a scream as he gets his hands in Obi-Wan's hair and grips tight.
Obi-Wan hisses and lets him tug, lifting his chin even as he pins Anakin with his gaze and curls his fingers harder, other hand roughly pinching a nipple and making him lurch. Anakin knows he loves the bright flare of pain, the proof that he's managed to reduce him to nothing but babbling pleasure, all his defiance whited out under his master’s guidance. He pulls at the sweaty strands harder and moans breathlessly when Obi-Wan’s thumb presses into the underside of his clit, a reward.
He's definitely going to come again, can feel it building in his pelvis with every thrust of fingers and twist of his nipple. Obi-Wan bends down and nips at where hip meets stomach, grinning against his skin when Anakin bleats. “Can feel you tightening up,” he murmurs, inhaling deeply as he drags his beard along his clenching belly, bright sparks trailing up Anakin’s spine with it. His fingers have stopped thrusting and are instead grinding hard, pads pressed against his g-spot. The messy sound it makes is filthy and Anakin’s face burns even as his eyes roll. “You’re so ripe inside, I can tell you're going to gush all over me.” He lifts his head and smirks wolfishly, pink tongue lolling. Anakin shudders. “I can't wait.”
The words make his head spin, but Anakin is helpless at this point, nothing but blistering sensation. He can feel a heaviness to his pleasure this time, something he's only ever felt recently with the uptick of Obi-Wan’s unyielding attentions. Never like this though, like it’s going to drown him. He feels like this orgasm is going to tear him apart, and he pulls Obi-Wan’s head closer, fingers turning clawing as his Master laughs darkly. “I see I'm not the only one,” he murmurs, and then he’s hooking an arm around Anakin's waist and pulling him up and over with the aid of the Force, falling back as Anakin settles across his face.
Anakin blinks down at him, hands pressed behind himself and barely registering the ache of his knees to the hardwood floor as Obi-Wan shifts enough to get at his clit, the fingers inside him picking up their pace again. They hit his g-spot perfectly at this angle, and Anakin gives up on thinking. All he can do is moan around the spit in his mouth and shift his hips forward, clutching at Obi-Wan's pants as the pleasure rises so quickly his vision blurs.
“That’s it,” Obi-Wan is murmuring, growling as he tongues around his fingers and wriggles it up into Anakin as well, nose rubbing against his clit as he buries himself between his thighs with his other hand tipping him into the perfect arch. Anakin widens his legs just that little bit more and cants down harder to Obi-Wan’s encouraging moans, the vibration driving him insane. His whimpers have become tortured by the time the heat blazes, and then he knows nothing but relief.
There’s a moment just as Obi-Wan's burning tongue rubs perfectly against his still-sore clit and his fingers press just hard enough into his front wall, that the Force sings so loud in his ear that Anakin thinks he might go deaf. But then he's coming so hard that he goes deaf anyway, body pulled taut as a bowstring as he freezes and then shudders like a cut tree.
He's vaguely aware that Obi-Wan has removed his fingers and is instead clutching his waist so tight his hips creak, gasping out yes, yes! as he pulls Anakin down over his gaping mouth. It's as he's still pulsing through what feels like five orgasms at once that he feels the wetness gushing out of him exactly as his Master promised, the streams seeming endless.
Anakin’s voice finally comes back to him so that he squeals as Obi-Wan's thumb presses down on his clit one last time, clutching at his wrist and trying to drag him away as he twitches violently. But Obi-Wan isn't even slightly deterred, just rubs quick circles as he drinks Anakin’s cum until the squirting slows.
Because that's what's just happened. His master just made him squirt. Anakin’s entire body throbs, mind blanking as he heaves for breath and stares uncomprehendingly at where Obi-Wan's beard and neck are glistening with rolling beads of liquid. Even the collar of his tunic is soaked through.
It's that, the sight of his master’s perfect Jedi clothing dirty because he’d made him cum so hard that he’d squirted all over him, that breaks him. Anakin moans fiercely and pulls himself back to sit on Obi-Wan's chest, mouthing over his cheeks and sucking at his beard deliriously, ducking to pull his wet tunic into his mouth and sucking that too, tasting his own cum. He's covered in Anakin, stinks of him. He’s a mess.
“Oh my gods,” he wheezes, sounding far away to his own ears as he slumps down feebly, all motor function apparently lost. “Master - that was - you -“
“Knew I could make you do it.” Obi-Wan's smugness is well deserved, and he seems to relish in the way Anakin shivers at his rasping voice. He's hugging him tightly, one hand playing with the beads of the Padawan braid, rolling them over his sticky fingers. Anakin can see strings of his own cum stretching and breaking between them before he licks them clean, savouring. “Could sense it, every time I ate you out. Just out of reach.”
“You're such a liar,” Anakin huffs, squirming in his hold until Obi-Wan lets him up reluctantly. The rough scrape of his clothes is a little too much after all that. Anakin feels scraped raw and hollowed out in a blindingly good way, even if his ears are still ringing and he can feel a trickle of embarrassment. But it’s next to nothing when he thinks about Obi-wan’s blissful face as he’d gulped Anakin down like water. “I’ve never felt like that, not ever!”
“Oh yes, you have,” Obi-Wan tells him knowingly, raising an eyebrow when Anakin bites his lip guiltily. “But you needed me to work you over so many times and so often that it could be pulled out of you.” He rises abruptly and shifts so that Anakin's in his lap, slippery cunt pressed against his soft bulge. Anakin can hear the faint squelch of cum, and he licks his lips hungrily, breath stuttering when Obi-Wan smiles, gaze feral. “Aren't I your master? Your teacher?
That's why I'm here,” his master says gently, hands bruising as they rock him slowly over his soiled pants, Anakin’s eyes blowing wide as he feels his cock twitch under him. “Show me what you've learnt.”
